Concerning Rangers
by Imaginigma
Summary: The battle of the Hornburg had a lasting affect on those who survived. A little snippet of what could have happened after the battle.
1. On The Way Home

Hi! This is a completed story. But it is also past of my ranger series. Other stories in this series will be posted after this chapter, as chapter 2, chapter 3 etc. The stories will mainly feature Aragorn, Halbarad, and other rangers, but alsoLegolas and other characters. Some stories are angsty, others funny, others are full of adventure. There will be long and short stories. So, astory for every taste.

It is a kind of "Everything you always wanted to know about rangers, but were afraid to ask" / Everyday ranger life stories. LoL

Enjoy!

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**Title: On the way home**

**Rating**: K+

**Warning: **None

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing that has to do with The Lord of the Rings. I make no money with this story.

**Summary: **On their way home, Aragorn and Halbarad have a near fatal encounter with a club.

**A/N (1): This is part one of my ranger series. **

**A/N (2):** Originally written for the MC prompt # 45 "Club". Aragorn and Halbarad are in their early 20s.

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The sun was sinking behind the horizon, bathing the woods into a gloomy light that created deep shadows between the trees. A lonely owl hooted dolefully before it flew away in search of food, and a few tiny grey mice scrabbled away to hide in the underbrush.

Aragorn sighed and shifted his pack from one shoulder to the other. Even after sunset the air under the trees was stale and warm, but he hoped that the night would bring refreshment. Now, in the middle of the summer, the days in Eriador were hot, the air flickering before their eyes, and the grass was so dry that even the tiniest spark could start a forest fire. Which meant that the rangers seldom lit any fires at all. It was hot enough anyway.

Glancing over his shoulder at his companion, Aragorn saw that Halbarad looked as dead on his feet as he felt. Sighing once more, Aragorn gazed around. They were near the Trollshaws and would reach the Great East Road tomorrow. After that, they would travel further south and reach the Dunedain village probably in a week. It would not hurt to rest now.

"Halbarad?"

"Mhhh?"

"What would you say, if I'd say that we stop for the night?"

Halbarad, who was truly dead on his feet, sweaty, hungry, thirsty and tired, lifted his head, hope flickering in his eyes, "Are you saying that or was the question only theoretical in nature?"

Smiling, Aragorn made his way over to a large tree, threw his own heavy pack onto the ground and flopped down beside it a second later.

For a moment, Halbarad merely looked at him, but then he lifted his face to the sky and sighed deeply, "Thank the Valar. I thought we'd never stop." And with that, he flopped down next to Aragorn, his hands already digging through his pack for something to eat.

The drought had driven a lot of the deer and other animals to the East, and therefore they had not had much luck with hunting. But they had collected some fruits along the way. And after all, no one liked to eat meat when it was that hot.

Without hesitation, Halbarad shoved a handful of fruits into his mouth, closing his eyes and sighing in pleasure. Aragorn had the impression this was the first meal the man had had in days, although they had eaten regularly.

Just when Halbarad was to eat the rest of his fruits, he caught Aragorn's amused look, "Oh, do you want some, too?" He asked meekly. It was clear he had no intention to share.

"Uhm, no, thank you Hal. I think I will seek out the river and clean myself from the dust of the road before having dinner."

With that he got to his feet, took out his towel and a clean tunic, before he marched away in the direction the small brook was located. Turning and calling over his shoulder, he added, "Oh, and Hal, if it is not too much asked for, have a look on the camp and my pack, will you?" And with that he disappeared into the trees.

Halbarad stared after his friend for a moment, before he mumbled irritably, "A brook. He could have told me there is a brook here. Great friend…" But inwardly he already imaged how the cool water would feel on his warm body, especially his feet, which seemed to have been braised in his shoes.

Grinning, Halbarad rolled out his sleeping roll and settled back against a tree. Cool water…

Shedding his clothing, Aragorn let himself sink down into the water. He sighed audibly when the water cooled his skin, that was already red from the sun. After this summer, he would surely have a deep tan, one that would make the elves look like pale ghosts beside him.

Grinning at the thought, Aragorn quickly washed the dust and sweat from his body, relishing especially in the opportunity to wash his hair. Maybe his brothers deemed it a tradition among the rangers to look as scruffy and grimy as possible, but there was nothing better than a fresh bath and a clean body after a hot day such as this one.

For some more minutes Aragorn relaxed in the cool water, letting it run over his body until he felt it becoming too cold. The brook was not that deep and relatively small, but it originated from the Misty Mountains and only surfaced a few miles away, inside the forest. The hot summer sun had not had the opportunity to heat it yet.

Sighing inwardly and debating for a few more minutes whether he should really leave the cold water, Aragorn finally exited the stream, dried himself and put on his trousers and the clean tunic. He would have loved the wash his trousers, but his spare pare had suffered in a wolf attack and needed to be sewed before he could wear them once more. And to walk around with no garments was out of the option.

Taking one more longing look at the brook and vowing to come back tomorrow early in the morning for another bath, Aragorn turned around. He had made only one step in the direction of the camp, when he heard a strange sound. Or rather, felt a strange sound.

His hackles rose and his hand went automatically to the hilt of his sword, but when he turned around he saw nothing disturbing. Still, something had been there, he had felt it in his legs and stomach. Something so low that his ears had not detected it, but that was there nevertheless.

Frowning, Aragorn took a step closer to the river and peered at the trees on the other side. Suddenly, a flock of bird flew twittering into the night sky, only some yards way from him on the other side.

Aragorn knew that there were caves on the other side, but nothing had lived there for ages. True, he had not been to the Trollshaws for a very long time, but he had not heard that orcs had taken up residence here.

Another low drumming vibrated through the ground, and some small pebbles rolled down the bank and splashed into the river. Aragorn's frown deepened as he first gazed at the river, and then at the forest on the other side. What the…

An ear-splitting roar reached his ears, and it was so loud and strange that Aragorn jumped a bit in surprise. His eyes widened to the size of pumpkins, and cold sweat appeared on his brow.

"Oh sweet Eru." And without another look back, Aragorn turned around … and ran. As fast as his legs could carry him he crashed through the underbrush, not heeding that he was making more noise than a horde of orcs.

When he reached Halbarad, his friend was already alert, having heard him coming.

"Aragorn? What happened? What…"

"Troll!" It was all Aragorn could say, before he quickly took up his pack, bow and quiver and then pushed the flabbergasted Halbarad towards his own things. When Halbarad only gazed at him, mouth hanging open, Aragorn picked up his friend's things and shoved them inside his pack, which he then pushed into Halbarad's arms.

"Hal, move! We have to leave before the troll finds us. We…"

Another ear splitting roar reached their ears, and they both froze.

"Human flesh! I smell human!"

And then the ground shook violently signalling the approach of the troll.

"Hal, move, come on." Aragorn grabbed his friend by the arm, and then the two of them sped away through the forest. They both knew there was no sense in fighting a troll. The troll would smash them and then eat them alive.

They could hear the huge beast stomp though the forest behind them, and when Halbarad chanced a quick look over his shoulder, he saw a thin tree bend under an invisible force. The tree's roots lifted out of the earth, and then the whole tree broke in the middle, splintered in dozens of small pieces.

Gulping, Halbarad doubled his efforts and this time it was he who grabbed Aragorn's sleeve, "Move, faster!"

And faster they moved, but not fast enough. Just when they scrambled up a steep hill inside the forest that was overgrown with brambles, the troll caught side of them. Seeing his prey seemed to give him an extra source of glee, and with a "See ye!" the troll advanced.

In his one hand he swung what looked like a huge net, complete with stones to weight down the corners, and in his other he carried the biggest club that Aragorn had ever seen. With a yell of warning, Aragorn flung himself to the side, hoping that Halbarad would do the same.

The troll roared and then swung his club, letting it crash to the ground only inches away from Halbarad's head. Scared and startled, Halbarad hurried up the hill on hands and knees, unheeding of the thorns that scraped his skin.

Aragorn, who had flung himself to the side, tried to follow his friend, but the troll saw his movement and swung his club once more. The wooden club missed Aragorn by a hand's breath, turning a dry bush next to Aragorn's body into an indefinable mass of twigs and leaves.

Breathing heavily, Aragorn rolled to the side, seeing out of the corner of his eyes that Halbarad had made it over the edge of the hill. But all further musing was prevented, when the troll suddenly roared and threw the net at him.

Aragorn rolled and attempted to get to his feet, but he was not quick enough this time. The net missed his body, but it caught hold on his legs, tangling them and making Aragorn trip and crash to the ground in a heap.

The air was driven out of his lungs and he gasped for breath, feeling the earth shudder as the troll approached.

"Human flesh is sweet." He roared in glee.

A huge, grey arm lifted and raised the club, ready to smash Aragorn and turn him into human-mash.

Aragorn struggled fiercely with the net, but the stones had caught in the net and the net in some bushes, and it would not loosen enough for him to get away. In a final attempt to avoid the unavoidable, Aragorn reached for his dagger and began to cut away the net, but he knew he would not be fast enough.

Grinning, the troll let the club fall down, ready to kill him. Struggling in near panic, Aragorn threw himself, net and all, to the side. The club crashed to the ground, hitting Aragorn's left shoulder and arm, making him yell in pain. But Aragorn's movement caused his body to uncontrollably roll down the hill at an alarming speed, escaping therewith the full force of the club.

Faster and faster he tumbled down the hill, unable to stop his fall. That, did a large tree, against which he crashed. For a moment, Aragorn could not move at all, lying dazed on the ground, fighting against the blackness at the edges of his vision. He could hear the troll roar and feel the vibration of his movements in the ground.

Turning his head, Aragorn saw the troll approach, club in hand and a grin on its face. This was it, no way out.

But then, something very strange happened. A figure appeared on the top of the hill, dark against the gloomy sky, and then the figure hurriedly sneaked up on the troll from behind. The creature seemed to not notice the figure, so intent was the troll on his meal.

It raised the club once more, standing right above Aragorn. And then, the figure, who Aragorn now identified as Halbarad, set fire to a dry and uprooted bush and then threw it at the head of the troll.

The beast roared and lifted its huge hands to remove the burning bush, dropping its club and dancing from side to side. In a flash Halbarad was at Aragorn's side, freeing him from the net and then hauling him to his feet.

More dragging him away then letting him walk by himself, Halbarad led Aragorn back towards their old campsite, the roars of pain and anger of the troll following them all the way. Once at the brook, Halbarad plunged into it, steadying Aragorn as he did so, and without a look back they followed the river downstream. The water would hopefully hide their scent.

An hour later, when they had not heard of the troll for a long while, Halbarad finally stopped and exited the stream.

A lopsided grin appeared on his face, "That was close. I thought the troll would turn you into mash."

"Me too, Hal, me too. Thank you for rescuing me."

"Every time, my friend. How is your shoulder?"

Grimacing and moving his injured arm marginally, Aragorn commented, "Sore. But I think it is not broken."

"We should have a look at it in the morning, once the light is better. Will it go for the night?"

"Aye."

And then the two friends resumed their journey southwards, both of them still feeling the after-effects of their troll encounter. Then, in the early hours of morning, they stopped close to some beech trees, more than ready to sleep.

"Aragorn?"

"Mhh?"

"Are you hungry, you have not yet eaten." And Halbarad held out some cram for him.

Making a face, Aragorn settled back against a tree, "No thanks."

Shrugging, Halbarad stuffed the cram into his mouth. Silence settled over the two, and Aragorn was already half asleep when he heard Halbarad mumble, "They will never believe this, mark my words, a real troll…."

The End.


	2. The Real Reason

**So, I am back! Here is the second story in my ranger series. It is not canon, but the other stories will be, and this one belongs to the bunch of stories I wrote for the series, so I post it as well.**

_**Title:** **The Real Reason**_

**Characters:** Aragorn, Legolas

**Rating: **G

**Disclaimer: **As if…No, they belong to a bunch of other people, and I am only slightly jealous. snort

**Summary: **Aragorn and Legolas have a little talk…

**A/N:** Originally written for the ME Express "Outdoors".

**Warning: **Really, I do not know where that comes from. :-)

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Legolas turned up his nose in mock disgust, "Really Aragorn, do you _never _bathe?"

Raising an eyebrow, Aragorn glanced down at his body, taking in his coat, tunic, shirt, leggings and leather boots. What was Legolas hinting at? Yes, he _was_ maybe a bit muddy…and sweaty…and generally dirty, but he was a ranger after all, and there had simply been no time to take a bath in the last few days…week.

Looking up and meeting his friend's gaze, Aragorn shrugged, "I do bathe, as you well know, but not everyone can be as clean as you are."

"I am not asking you to be as clean as I am…just not as dirty and smelly as an orc."

"Oh, come now, Legolas. It is not _that_ bad."

Snorting softly, Legolas took a mocking step away from his friend, holding his hand before his nose. His eyes were twinkling merrily, and Aragorn knew that he was only teasing him.

But if Legolas wanted to tease him…

"Well Legolas, perhaps it is time to tell you the real reason why rangers never bathe."

Raising a surprised eyebrow at his friend's serious tone, Legolas came closer and nodded encouragingly towards Aragorn, bidding him to tell.

Leaning closer, Aragorn reduced his voice to a whisper, as if he would tell his friend a great secret. Legolas listened eagerly, not knowing if his friend was jesting or serious.

Whispering, Aragorn said, "Legolas, the true reason why rangers seldom bath is this:" Aragorn paused dramatically before he continued, "We rarely bathe because the ladies like our scruffy outdoorsy appearance."

And with that, Aragorn walked away, a huge grin plastered on his face, leaving a slightly bewildered Legolas behind.

**The End.**

_And? Any comments? Would love to hear what you think._


	3. You are not getting younger, you know?

**Hello! Here is the next story, a short one again for it was originally a 500 word limit prompt fic. Enjoy!****

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Title: You're not getting younger, you know?

**Rating:** K

**Disclaimer:** Nothing that has to do with LOTR is mine and I make no money with this story.

**Summary:** A conversation between Aragorn and Halbarad.

**A/N 1:** Originally written for the Prompt # 12 Time on the AragornAngst list.

**A/N 2:** At the bottom of the story.

--oOo--

"You know," Halbarad said while he guided his horse through the narrow streets of Bree, "I think the smith's daughter was winking at you for the entire time we were there."

Aragorn avoided a cart full of hay and sidestepped a pile of horse droppings before he answered, "Perhaps she had something in her eye."

A barking laugh was Halbarad's answer, but the arrival of a flock of sheep stopped any further conversation between the two rangers. Aragorn was glad that he was spared this particular conversation, but he knew that Halbarad would sooner or later return to it. He always did.

They left Bree and then turned East. The Great East Road was filled with carts and horses, merchants and other folk that used the fine autumn day to go about their business. With all the people around, Aragorn and Halbarad talked little, as they had to concentrate on avoiding a collision with the other humans and animals.

After sunset they stopped and kindled a small fire to eat a warm meal. It was when they were enjoying their pipes and the mild temperatures of the night that Halbarad turned their conversation back to his earlier words.

"The smith's daughter is pretty. I wonder why she is not married yet."

"Her father is rather protective of her."

Halbarad raised an eyebrow and wondered how Aragorn could know that. But, wishing to get to the point and knowing that his friend was trying to divert him, he made mind up his to no longer beat around the bush.

"Aragorn…"

But said ranger interrupted him, "Halbarad, we had this argument a few times already. I have not changed my mind."

"But you are the last heir! With your death the line of Isildur will come to an end. And the way you disappear for months without anyone knowing where you are or if you are still alive, it is no wonder we are asking ourselves what we would do should you, Valar forbid, meet your untimely end."

Aragorn sighed, but said nothing and did not look at Halbarad.

"Aragorn, there are some very lovely ladies at home, only waiting to be courted by you. But you never even spare them a second glance. You are polite and always friendly, but everyone can see you are not interested in them."

Halbarad gazed at his friend, but when Aragorn failed to comment, he huffed, "I know we Dunedain live longer than other humans, but we are not immortal. You, Aragorn, are not immortal. You need an heir, the sooner the better."

Still, Aragorn stared into the darkness. Feeling frustrated and slightly angry at Aragorn's passive attitude, Halbarad said, "You are a good warrior, Aragorn, but there is always someone out there who is better. One arrow, one sword stroke that you cannot block, some wild animal, Valar, you have been wounded often enough to know this.

You are not getting any younger, Aragorn!"

Suddenly, Aragorn turned and snapped heatedly, "Do you think I don't know that?" His eyes glimmered strangely, but the moment passed as soon as it had come. Aragorn took a deep breath and then repeated softly, "Do you think I don't know that? I know it only too well."

Speechless, for Aragorn had never before reacted that way, Halbarad stared at his friend. For a moment he thought to see a deep sadness in the grey eyes and a longing that he could not explain. Then, Aragorn turned his head away, lifted his pipe and stared into the surrounding darkness.

Never again spoke Halbarad of that matter, and it was many years later before Aragorn told his friend about the reasons of his unmarried state.

The End.

**A/N 2:** I do not know when Aragorn told Halbarad about Arwen. For the sake of this story he kept it a secret for some decades. :o)


	4. Internal Wounds

**Title: Internal Wounds**

**Rating:** K+

**Warning:** AU

**Disclaimer:** I do no own the characters, but that does not hinder me from playing with them. I make no money with this story.

**Summery:** When Elrond calls for the aid of the rangers to get rid of some troublesome orcs, Aragorn rushes to help. But the fight is a hard one and could very well cost the life of him.

**A/N:** Written for Aragorn's birthday and now part of"Concerning Rangers".:)

--oOo--

Blades clashed and the horrible sound of breaking bones and tumbling bodies lay in the air. The screams of the injured and dying echoed through the forest, nearly drowning out the battle yells of those that still stood and fought for their lives. Blood, red and black, soaked the earth and made the ground muddy and slippery; more than once a fighter slipped on the ground and signed his doom.

The heavens cried at this spectacle of madness and death, and heavy rain mingled with the cries of defeat and victory, watering the bloody rivulets that sneaked through grass and ground. The battle had started in the early hours of daylight and gone on for hours, but now in the first hours of afternoon, most of the enemy had been slain and the rest was fleeing towards the Misty Mountains. The sky was dark and the day gloomy, reflecting the minds of those who still drew breath.

Exhausted and trembling Aragorn sank through his knees to the ground, his sword lying in his limp hand. He let his head hang and willed his battered lungs to take in the air, ignoring the stench of the orcs and the scent of blood and death that made him nauseous. Pain assaulted his tired body, but he was no longer able to tell where he had sustained injuries, or which wound hurt the most. He was so tired, and without his conscious thought his eyes closed and he began to sway in his kneeling position.

He did not feel the bloody mud that seeped through his leggings, feel the rain on his skin or hear the shouts of his fellow rangers. Aragorn could taste his own blood in his mouth and it made him wish for water to clean himself, to rid him of the sweet metal taste that was not unknown to him.

All he wanted to do in this very moment of victory was to let go of his sword and sink to the ground completely. To keep his eyes shut and let darkness take away his waking mind so that he could rest his weary body. For once, he wanted to just be one of the rangers, not the Chieftain who would have to be strong and resilient. Not the one who had to give orders and arrange for the wounded and dead. For once, he wanted to be selfish and simply embrace the welcoming darkness.

But he knew, he could not. So he took a deep breath, opened his eyes, tightened his hold on his sword and lifted his head. For long moments the world seemed to swim before his eyes, the trees around him danced and bent, the ground tilted and the bodies of his foes and friends rushed towards him.

But he took another deep breath, and then another, and with the fresh air that filled his lungs his dizziness left him and the world lay still and unmoving before him. The dead no longer moved and the trees no longer danced, but the sight that greeted him now was even worse than the picture his dizzy mind had provided him with.

The clearing and the woods beyond were littered with dead orcs, their foul blood splattered on farn and forest, and their bodies bulging from bushes and boulders. And next to them lay the dead and dying bodies of his rangers.

Clenching his yaw, Aragorn climbed to his feet, willing them to hold his weight and not crumple under him. His gaze travelled over the sight of battle and his heart grow heavy. From where he stood he could see at least five dead rangers, and he knew that the forest hid even more. The number of his fallen rangers stood in no comparison to the number of slain orcs, but that did not lighten his heart. He felt each death keenly, and the fact that he had lead his men to their graves lay like a heavy weight upon his shoulders.

He sighed, and then turned to follow the lead of his surviving men, who were already searching the fallen for signs of life. Surviving orcs would be killed, humans tended. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a ranger plunge his blade into the body of an orc, but whether the foul beast had still been alive or whether it had been a display of the anger the ranger must feel, Aragorn did not know.

Together with his men he searched the battle site, and truly, they found two of his rangers injured and unconscious but not dead, but they also found the body of a ranger, who had not been able to withstand the pull of death.

Aragorn knew that it was not truly his fault that his men lay dead, that it had been the rusty blades of orcs that had killed them, but that knowledge did not help the pain and despair in his heart. For years he had fought the threat of the orcs; he had travelled the lands and done what was asked of him. But he was so tired, and so weary. With every battle he fought and every injury he sustained, his wish for a break grew stronger. Deep inside, he did not know how long he would be able to withstand the temptation of his selfish part, and simply lay down and sleep until the world had changed for the better.

Plunging his sword into the body of an orc that lay on the ground at his feet, Aragorn felt his grip on the bloody hilt loosen. The blood on the weapon was black and foul, but a bright red stain slowly trickled down the hilt and blade, and detachedly Aragorn noticed that his whole sleeve was wet with blood. His blood. But he was too tired from the battle to pay much attention to this injury, and therefore he went on through the gloomy forest.

It had not been by his own intention that his rangers and he were fighting orcs near the Misty Mountains, but a request for help by Lord Elrond. During the cold winter, the foul beasts had become bolder and had started to come down from their caves to hunt in the woods around Imladris for food and fun. More than one elven patrol had been attacked, and when the first snow had melted, Lord Elrond had asked the rangers for help.

Aragorn did not really know why Elrond had done that; although Imladris was a safe haven for the tired and weary, a place of song and harmony, Imladris housed great warriors and the elves were skilled enough to defend their home. But the request had been honest and so Aragorn and his men had taken up the search for the orcs. And for a fleeting moment, Aragorn had believed that his foster father had asked him to come to Imladris so that he would be home for his birthday, but, alas, it had been folly to think so and he had abandoned the thought.

They had tracked the orcs for weeks, and here and there fought them in little skirmishes. Then, a few days ago, they had finally found the place where they came down from the mountains, and this very morning the last battle had begun. Now, most of the offending orcs were slain, and the rest that had been able to flee would not dare to venture into the green forests of Imladris once more.

Seeing that he had reached the far end of the battle site, Aragorn released a deep breath, sheathed his sword and then turned to make his way over to the makeshift camp that he knew some of his men had already set up. His healing skills would be needed to treat the wounded, and after that they would head for Imladris, bearing the news that their task was done.

Suddenly, a hot pain shot through his skull and chest, and Aragorn reached out to a nearby tree to keep him from falling to the ground. He breathed heavily as the pain slowly subsided, and then he released his hold on the tree and walked on. Pain and exhaustion he knew very well, and he could bear it. His men needed his help, and he would give them all he was able to give.

Upon reaching the makeshift camp, he saw that most of the wounded had already been brought and laid down on blankets near small fires. Water was boiling over the flames, and bandages laid ready. Some rangers sat near their injured friends, pressing cloths to gaping gashes and holding cold hands. It was a sight that had greeted his eyes so many times in the past that Aragorn needed only the blink of an eye to count the wounded, make out the severe cases and decide which of his men he would treat first.

While he went over to one of his men who had been stabbed in the chest with a crude dagger and was bleeding fiercely, routine settled over the camp. Unhurt rangers took care of the orcs, piling them in a great heap to burn them, and others went to retrieve the horses they had been given in Imladris and had left behind the night before for their own safety.

With skilled but bloody fingers, Aragorn lifted the cloth he had pressed on the other ranger's wound and, satisfied that the bleeding had slowed, he reached for a clean wet cloth and began to clean the wound. That the ranger he was tending was unconscious made his work easier, and soon the gash was cleaned, stitched and wrapped in clean bandages.

Checking the pulse of the man one last time, Aragorn nodded satisfied, stood up, and made his way over to the next one who needed his help. The moment he got to his feet, dizziness assaulted him and he swayed slightly. But he ignored the signals his own body send him and set to work. For nearly two hours he tended the wounded, taking care of the more serious wounds while the other rangers took care of smaller injuries. Every ranger of his was trained in healing, and Aragorn had made sure that everybody under his command knew how to tread wounds, as it was fundamental for their survival.

Tired and weary, Aragorn rose to his feet after tending the last of the more serious hurt rangers, and suddenly swayed dangerously. The world began to swim before his eyes, his blood rushed in his ears and he could taste the copper taste of blood on his tongue. His head pounded in the rhythm of his heart, and a shiver ran through his body. Sure that he would lose consciousness and tumble to the ground, he was surprised to feel a strong hand grip his shoulder, keeping him upright.

Words reached his ears, but they seemed to come from far away and he was not able to understand them. He knew the voice, but his fuzzy mind could not recognize the speaker; all he knew was that he could trust the voice and that the one who spoke meant no harm.

It took him some moments to realize that the one who had taken hold of his arm was steering him through the camp, and that his feet actually walked on their own accord. The world was tilting and dancing around him, the pounding in his head increased by the second, and the pull of darkness that beckoned him became stronger and stronger. But strangely he felt no pain other than his headache, and for a short moment he wondered whether he should be glad about that fact or not.

Before he could come to a decision, strong but gentle hands forced him to the ground, and then the same hands made him lay down flat on his back. He did not want to lay down, there was work to be done and people to care for. Frowning he attempted to rise, but the hands held him down and the familiar voice floated to his ears, and although he could still not understand the words, it was clear that the voice wanted him to stay down.

Stilling all motion, Aragorn saw a blur bend over him, and then something touch his cheek, but alas, he was so tired, and now that he was lying on the ground, the exhaustion and weariness crept over his body like a spider over her net. Heaviness filled his arms and legs, his chest was wrapped in a steel grip, making it hard to breathe, and tiny black spots had appeared in his vision, growing in size and number.

Detachedly he felt someone tug and his clothes, then something cold was pressed at his shoulder, and suddenly he felt the pain that erupted from it. Blindly he reached out to ease the pain, but his hand was caught and then pressed down into the grass. The pain grew and grew until hot fire ate at his whole side, and the dark spots increased in number so fast that he thought night was approaching.

He felt more hands on his body, and more voices, and they sounded strangely tense and concerned to him, but the words were muffled as if his ears had stopped working properly. Aragorn felt someone lift his arm and cut away his sleeve, then the agonizing touch of fingers that probed along his flesh and bone.

Oh, his eyes became so heavy, and tiredly he closed them. They were no use to him anyway, as all he could see were shadows and black spots. Breathing became even more difficult and as he tried to take a deep breath, he could not. His chest was too tight and his lungs would not expand to allow enough air to enter; again he tasted blood on his tongue, and with it came the sudden realization to his muddled mind that his lung could be hurt.

Strangely, this thought did not fill him with fear or panic; instead he calmly stopped his attempts to breathe deeply, taking shallow breaths only, and instead concentrated on the sounds that reached his ears, for the voices had become louder and clearer. Deep down he knew that he had to fight, that he was injured and that he could not give in now, but the tiredness in his body and the exhaustion of the last weeks finally caught up with him, and he felt the darkness pull him deeper and deeper.

Still and unmoving he lay on the ground, unconscious to the world around him, but his ears still heard some of the words that were spoken, before he finally drifted off to the welcoming, blissful darkness.

"He has lost too much blood, perhaps an artery."

"No, no, if it was an artery he would long have bled to death. The shoulder wound is deep and we have to stop the bleeding, but the wound is not life threatening. No, he must be bleeding internally, there is blood on his lips. Perhaps a broken rib in his lung."

"Halbarad, if his lung is hurt we cannot help him…"

"I will not let him die! Get me the herbs and the water, a sharp knife, bandages, all that I will need. Go!"

A pause, shuffling feet and then distant shouts to the other rangers for the rest of the herbs and bandages. A voice, the same familiar voice spoke up near to his ear, and the last thing Aragorn heard was the pleading voice of Halbarad, "Aragorn, stay strong, we are not far from Imladris. Hold on. Hold on."

--oOo--

The next thing he was aware of was a jolting motion, and the feeling that he was speeding through the forest without moving himself. Then the snort of a horse reached his ears, and he knew that he was sitting on a horse and riding through the forest, but to which place, he did not know.

After some more moments in which he did nothing but listen, he became aware of someone sitting behind him and holding him in the saddle; a strong arm was wrapped around his middle, and he was resting against the chest of the man behind him. His head was placed on the man's shoulder, and he felt how it lolled to the side whenever the horse made an unexpected step.

To Aragorn it was a feeling that he hated. The thought that another one had to take care of him and that he was not able to ride on his own, made his mind fight for full consciousness. Long moments nothing happened, but then he became more aware of his surroundings, and even heard the harsh breathing of the other horses and the pounding of the hooves on the ground.

With an effort he finally managed to open his eyes, but the world around him was a blur of green and brown, and the sight made him sick to the stomach. Wearily he closed his heavy lids, but he must have moaned or given any other sign of waking, for a moment later, he felt the horse slow and then heard the worried voice of Halbarad in his ear, as it was he who he was riding with.

"Aragorn? Can you hear me?"

He wanted to answer, to say that he indeed heard him and ask him why he sounded so worried, but he could not. His mouth was dry and his tongue felt swollen, and his lungs would not support his wish to speak.

"Aragorn, please, can you hear me? Are you awake? Aragorn?"

A hand was placed on his neck, and Aragorn knew that Halbarad was searching for his pulse. The horse had stopped moving under him, and suddenly only stillness met his ears, so as if all other riders had stopped their horses as well and were now waiting for news about his health.

He wanted to reassure them, tell them that he was all right and that they should not worry. After all, he had not been seriously hurt in the battle, had he? Aragorn could not remember all that had happened during the fight, but he remembered that he had treated the wounded. And then, then the taste of blood on his tongue and the darkness that had called out to him.

Then he heard another voice ask something, and the worried voice of Halbarad answered, "He is fading, we need to make haste."

Fading? Was Halbarad speaking about him? He was not fading, he was alive and conscious. With new strength he tried to tell them that he was not fading, that they were mistaken and should not worry.

The hand vanished from his throat, but he felt Halbarad bend forward to look at his face, and so he forced his eyes open one more time. It was so difficult to do this little movement, and when his heavy eyelids finally lifted, he felt exhausted beyond words.

At first, he saw nothing but blurry colours, but then the hand once more touched his face, and the edges became clearer, the colours sharper. Out of tired eyes he gazed at Halbarad's face, and when the older ranger spoke, he saw his mouth moving.

"Aragorn, can you hear me?"

He would have frowned, had that not cost him too much energy, energy he felt he had not. So, he only blinked tiredly, and in that second he knew that he was truly seriously wounded. Otherwise, he would not have felt that tired, and Halbarad would not have looked that scared and worried.

He wanted to speak, wanted to let Halbarad know that he understood now, but he was so tired and his body did not heed his wishes. Slowly, his eyelids fluttered and then closed, and before he knew what happened, his body tumbled down the chasm and fell into cold unconsciousness.

He did not see the flicker of fright in Halbarad's eyes, hear his command to ride on, or feel the horse race through the forest. His mind retreated into blackness, and there it dwelled for a long time.

--oOo--

The time of blackness was interrupted by short moments of dull awareness; he meant to see trees rush past, hear the water of a stream gurgle under him, feel hands lifting his body from the horse and then meant to hear a voice that he knew almost better than his own.

At one moment in time, he felt his body being prodded and poked, felt cold metal pierce his chest and gentle hands on his brow. But the feelings of pain and tenderness vanished as soon as they had come, and he once more drifted in blissful darkness.

There he dwelled, until he became aware of the voice again, the voice he knew so well. It was low at first, near a whisper, but when he concentrated, it became louder and more demanding. It spoke to him urgently and try as he might, it would not go and leave him alone. For long minutes he tried to ignore it, as the darkness was soothing to his mind and body.

But then, he could make out words as the voice grew louder, and with the words came the meaning, and he felt fear course through his body. In the flash of a second he recognized the voice. Lord Elrond, his foster father was talking to him, actually pleading with him.

"Estel, tolo dan nan galad. Saes, tolo dan nan galad." (Estel, come back to the light. Please, come back to the light.)

It must be truly bad, if his father asked him to return to the light. Was he that near to death? He did not feel as if he was; his body did not hurt and his mind seemed clear. Perhaps he should simply open his eyes and wake. But…he could not.

The moment he tried, something seemed to stab his stomach; it did not pain him, it was only unpleasant, like a pull behind his navel that forced his strength from him. He could not fight it, so mighty was the pull, but he wanted to. He had felt this before, and he had been very close to death back then.

He did not want to die, not like that, not so. Aragorn felt fear rise, and he wanted to heed his father's words, he wanted to come back and see the light. With all the strength he had he fought the darkness that wanted to claim him and slowly, he struggled for the surface.

"Estel? Estel, it is time to wake now, you have slept long enough."

Something cool was placed on his forehead, and he knew that it was his father's hand that touched him. Oh, for how long had he wished to be home and to have his family around him? He had dreamed about it so many times, but now that he knew he was home, it felt so different than in his dreams. His father's hand was cold and not warm and the voice was demanding, not gentle.

In his fuzzy mind, Aragorn could not tell why that was so, but suddenly the pull of the darkness intensified, and he felt himself drown in the blackness. Perhaps the darkness was not that bad; he would be able to rest there and forget the battle and the strain. Was that not what he had wanted all along? To rest and be freed of his responsibilities? Yes, perhaps the darkness was not that bad after all…

"Estel! Lasto beth nin! Do not go the path of darkness, come back to the light! Estel!" (Listen to me!)

Why was his father so upset? Could he not feel that the darkness was not his enemy, but the sweet salvation he had fought for so long? Did he not know that death was not the doom of men, but a gift to all who welcomed it? Why could his father not –for once- heed his wishes?

The urgent voice faded as his waking mind sneaked away from the present and the darkness intensified. He was so tired, so indescribable tired and he wanted nothing more than sleep, even should it be the everlasting sleep.

But suddenly, something touched his cheek and then the voice was near his ear, whispering so that only he could hear, "Estel, please ionn nin, do not leave me. I could not bear to lose you. Please my son, my Estel, do not go, do not leave me."

The voice was no longer demanding, but gentle and pleading, full of emotions. His father was pleading with him to stay, to not go into the shadow. Oh, he had longed so many years to hear his father tell him these or similar words, had wished his father would ask him to come home and stay for a while. And now that it had truly happened, how could he deny his father's wish?

He could not, and therefore he renewed the struggle, fought against the pull of darkness and ignored the soothing blackness that waited for him. It was an exhausting fight, and it took him long to be able to ignore the welcoming and promising chasm of death.

After some time, he suddenly felt someone hold his hand, and then the cool and this time very comforting hand of his father on his brow. He was near the surface now, and he knew that, soon, he would reach consciousness. Just a bit more, a bit longer…

Aragorn became slowly aware of the presence of others near him, and the softness of the bed he lay on. Sunlight fell on his face, but the air was cool and rich with the scent of herbs. He could hear whispers in the background, but the constant voice of his father drowned them out, and he could not make out the words that were spoken between the other persons.

Gathering his remaining strength, he tried to force his eyes open, but they did not obey his command. Heavy as if they were held down by some invisible force, they would not open. But his efforts must have been visible, for a moment later he heard his father speak softly,

"Estel? Are you awake? Come back to the world, Estel, we are waiting for you."

He wanted to, yes, he wanted to wake, but his eyelids were so heavy, and he felt so tired. So, he did the only thing he felt able to do in that moment. With the strength that he had left, he squeezed the hand that was holding his own, and was rewarded with his father squeezing back.

He could nearly hear the smile that adorned Elrond's face, "Aye, that is it Estel. Welcome back."

The whispering in the background grew louder and Aragorn could hear people approaching the bed, but he felt exhausted beyond words after his efforts, and so he drifted off into a deep sleep, reassured that his father would watch over him and that the danger of darkness had passed.

--oOo--

For how long he had slept he did not know, but when he next awoke, he felt the aches in his body and the heaviness of someone who had slept too long. Sunlight caressed his face, and the soft bed he was lying on felt wonderful.

He could hear no sound, but he simply knew that he was not alone. He never was, when he awoke after being injured, and so it was no surprise to him when, after a few moments, the shuffling of feet reached his ears. The bed moved under him as someone sat down on the edge, and a moment later tender fingers stroked his cheek.

Aragorn did not open his eyes, too good felt the tender touch, and he did not want to wake if it was nothing but a dream. For some minutes he enjoyed the touch, but then the pains in his body demanded his attention, and so he took a deep breath and pried his eyes open.

When his blurry vision cleared, he looked into the smiling face of his foster father. Neither said a word, but after a few moments, Elrond reached towards the nightstand, poured a glass of water and helped Aragorn drink.

Before the water had touched his mouth and throat, he had not even known how thirsty he had been, but then he drank eagerly. When the worst of his thirst was sated, he gazed back at his father.

He did not know what to say, what to ask, but there was no need to. After replacing the cup on the nightstand, the elf lord spoke,

"Do not strain yourself, Estel. You were seriously wounded and reached Imladris more dead than alive. But do not worry, we have been able to stop the internal bleeding, and you will heal completely. It will take time, but you will regain your strength."

Although Elrond had said that they had been able to stop the internal bleeding, Aragorn had no doubt that it had been his father who had worked with all his might to rescue him from death's door. Looking at his father, all he could do before sleep claimed him once more was attempt a small smile, and whisper two words, "Hannon le."

Elrond smiled back at his sleeping son, and placed a loving kiss on Aragorn's forehead, "You are welcome, ionn nin. I love you, my son."

--oOo--

The days passed quickly, and soon Aragorn was allowed out of bed, but with the strict order to not overdo it, which he heeded. He felt still tired and was out of breath after only the smallest exercise, and the constant hovering of Halbarad reminded him that it had been really close this time.

Aragorn enjoyed the days in Imladris, and his heart felt lighter than it had done for a very long time. The shadow of the future was not as dark as before, and with his recovery in body, his weary mind found rest and healing as well.

The day to come promised to be cold, but sunny and therefore Aragorn had ventured to one of the many balconies early in the morning, before the rising of the sun. He had loved the breaking of day in his childhood, and that had not changed during his years as a ranger. With a blanket around his shoulders, he leaned against the banister of the balcony, and watched as the sky turned to a pale blue, then pink and lilac.

Just as the sun peaked up behind the white cliffs, he heard soft footsteps behind him, and without turning he knew that his father was approaching. Smiling gently, he said, "Good morning."

"Good morning, Estel. How do you feel?"

Aragorn sighed, but then answered truthfully, "A bit sore still and tired, but otherwise well."

A chuckle was heard, and then the Lord of Imladris reached his side and placed his hands on the wooden banister, "No wonder you are tired, when you get up so early in the morning. You could never wait to be woken on this special day."

This special day? What was his father talking about. His confusion must have been visible on his face, because Elrond's eyes widened and he lifted an elegant eyebrow. "Do not tell me you have forgotten?"

Now truly confused, Aragorn answered, "What is it I have forgotten?"

A smile so huge that it could have split his head graced his father's face, and then he reached out and embraced his son tightly. With a voice thick with emotion, he whispered in Aragorn's ear, "Happy Birthday, Estel. Happy birthday."

And for many more years to come, Elrond would remember the day his son had been home for his birthday, although he himself had forgotten it. It was rare that Aragorn managed to be home on that special day, and somehow Elrond knew that his request of the rangers had been well placed indeed, and that without the wound, his son would not have stayed in Imladris and would not have been home for his birthday. Fate had indeed strange ways to fulfil the wishes of the heart.

The End.


	5. Home Again

**Title: **Home again

**Rating: **K+

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing that has to do with LOTR and I make no money with this story.

**Summary: **After an orc fight, Aragorn has not only to deal with the physical injuries.

**A/N 1: **Written for the Middle-Earth Express on the AragornAngst list. Prompt 16 "Trust". Aragorn just returned from Gondor in this story a few weeks prior to this incident.

**A/N 2:** I know this is not the next chapter of either _The Roots of Evil_ or _The Assassin_. But I am working on both stories and I will try to post the next chapter of The Roots of Evil in the next few days. It is finished and betaed. I just need to give it the final touch. Thanks for your patience and I hope this will be some kind of compensation for the long wait. Real Life can be so demanding sometimes... :o)

* * *

Weary rangers settled down in the clearing, the uninjured helping the wounded. Guards were set up to make sure that the rangers were indeed save, at least for the moment, and one of the rangers kindles a fire.

The rangers had been attacked by orcs during the night; the battle had been fierce, but in the end the superior skill of the rangers had prevailed. Still, almost everyone was injured, ranging from minor scratches to an arrow wound in the back, and they had decided to leave the place of battle behind and instead treat the injured in this clearing.

Aragorn looked around; Most of the rangers were being taken care of by their comrades, which gave him the time to tend to the arrow wound. Sinking to his knees beside the man, Aragorn ignored his own discomfort and tiredness and began to clean the wound. To his relief, the arrow had not gone deep. The ranger had been lucky.

Sighing and wiping his hands across his face, Aragorn looked around. Some of the wounded rangers were already asleep, others were keeping guard.

Getting to his feet he sighed inwardly. This was the first patrol he had been part of since his return, and if he was honest with himself, he felt like an outsider. Most of the younger men he knew not, and the older rangers would not talk to him as they used to do when he was younger. Sometimes, he even had the feeling they were avoiding him on purpose.

With another quick look that the other rangers were either sleeping or occupied, Aragorn made his way over to a fallen log, leaning his back against it. During the battle an orc had manages to break through his defences, leaving a deep cut in his left forearm.

Peeling away the sleeve of his tunic, Aragorn grimaced when the dried blood clung to the fabric, making the whole process even more painful. He probed the wound and bright red blood began to ooze from it.

Suddenly, another pair of hands touched his arm, and in a startled gesture Aragorn drew his arm back and reached for his knife. But it was only Halbarad, who had come looking for him. Halbarad gave him a strange look and then reached for the arm again.

"It just a scratch, I can deal with it myself." Aragorn's tone sounded stern even in his own ears and he flinched inwardly.

"Let me see it."

"No, it is well, I can deal with it." And Aragorn drew his arm back, suppressing the wince of pain when Halbarad would not let go.

Aragorn gave Halbarad a look, but the ranger shook his head sadly and sighed, "Strider…Aragorn, you are not in Gondor anymore. You are with friends."

"I know that." Aragorn replied offended.

"Then let me help you. You do not have to hide any longer, Aragorn. You can trust us."

And while Aragorn stared at him, not knowing what to say, Halbarad's words racing through his mind, Halbarad began to gently clean and stitch the wound. But in his heart, Aragorn knew that Halbarad spoke the truth; he needed not longer pretend to be someone he was not, and that included showing his pain and weakness. Smiling slightly, he nodded his thanks to Halbarad who smiled back knowingly.

The End.


	6. A Great Honour

**Title:** A great honour

**Rating:** K

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing that has to do with The Lord of the Rings. I make no money with this story.

**Summary:** Halbarad's thoughts as they sail towards the Pelennor Fields.

**A/N:** Written for Prompt # 13 "Change" on the O.A.A. yahoo list. I think this would have made a wonderful Teitho "If I could…." plot bunny…

* * *

_"This is an evil door," said Halbarad, "and my death lies beyond it. I will dare to pass it nonetheless; (…)."_

_The Passing of the Grey Company_

* * *

Weariness has claimed us all; the days under the Mountains, the Path of the Dead and the desperate ride to Pelargir has sapped our strength. All around me I see tiredness, strain and weariness. Had it not been for Aragorn and his determination, none of us would have made it to Pelargir.

Aragorn…I have watched him. Since we met in Rohan I have not let him out of my sight. Exhausted he was, injured and burdened. The battle of Helm's Deep had caused him much grief, and I think he doubted himself, for he was not sure which way to take. His heart told him hither and his mind told him yonder.

Dull his eyes were, haunted…guarded. His eyes were never guarded when he looked at me, not until now. I know not what he saw in the Palantir, but it disturbed him greatly. It still does, even after our victory over the Corsairs.

There he stands, head held high into the wind. The same wind that guides us now northwards; that will bring help to the defenders and delivers us to our doom. Aragorn's shoulders are set, his stance strong and proud. Anduril, the Flame of the West is at his side, shining in the dim morning light.

The men that look upon him change. Were tiredness had been, alertness rises; weariness turns to strength, despair to determination. Frowns smooth on scarred faces, limp hands become strong once more. Whispers of doubt and doom cease to leave the lips, as all ready themselves to face the coming day. Hope returns to them.

But I…I can see the small tremor that races through his body, the minimal shift of his stance and the flicker in his eyes. But I know, it is not fear, nor uncertainty. No, he knows what he has to do.

I smile slightly, sadly, for I know what it is that flickers in his eyes. He wonders, worries. He still thinks what he does is not enough. That it will never be enough. He already feels the weight of the dead on his shoulders, although they still breathe.

I wonder what he would do if he knew…if he knew that I shall meet my end today. Aye, I foresaw it when I passed under the door to the Paths of the Dead. When I now look upon him, I regret to leave him. I want to see him become King, to achieve all that he has struggled for all his life. We have struggled for.

Morning has come. We have arrived. I tightly grip the standard –his banner- in my one hand and my sword in the other. When I sidle up to him, he turns and gives me brief smile, before he gazes out at the bloody battle.

I know this is the last time I see him. One of those foul beasts out there will kill me today. But here I stand, beside my King, and I have changed, as have all others who have had the great honour to meet him.

I am not sorry to die today…I am only sorry that he will mourn my death.

He nods and unsheathes Anduril that sparkles in the dull light. I know I will not die in vain today.

The End.


	7. 7 Haunted

**Title:** Haunted

**Rating: **K+

**Disclaimer:** Not mine, never will be. I make no money with this story.

**Summary:** The battle of the Hornburg had a lasting affect on those who survived. A little snippet of what could have happened after the battle.

**A/N: **Written for the Prompt # 36 "Rest" on AragornAngst.

* * *

Night had settled over the stone ruins of Helm's Deep, and still the wails of the women could be heard, as well as the crying of the children. Torches had been lit inside of the Hornburg and in the caverns behind it, but few lit the grounds outside. No one who had fought in the battle needed the light to see the corpses and slaughtered bodies. These pictures would be burned into every man's memory for the rest of his life.

Until deep into the night Aragorn and the other defenders who were not seriously injured had tried to recover their dead comrades from the orcs and Uruk-hai, but around midnight the men had been too exhausted to go on. Many had gone to the Horburg to eat a bite, sleep and forget.

Now, only a few short hours from dawn, Helm's Deep was eerily silent. No a sound was heard, despite the fact that hundreds of humans resided behind the thick walls. A cool breath of wind sneaked around the rubble of destroyed walls and buildings, stirring the clothing and hair of the dead.

'As silent as in a grave. And that it is.' Aragorn thought, as he fought his way through the corpses. In the dark of the night it was unavoidable for him to now and then step on a hand or even a face, but every time he did he shuddered involuntarily and closed his eyes. n his long years Aragorn had fought many battles and seen death, but what had happened here was even new to him.

Cringing when he stepped on another dead body, Aragorn slowly made his way towards the outer wall of the fortifications. There, he stopped in his tracks and let his eyes roam over the plains. Dead orcs covered the ground, but their shapes were nearly invisible in the darkness, and had he not know that they were corpses, Aragorn could have mistaken the shapes for boulders.

He stood there for many minutes, gazing out at the land, and slowly the tension in his shoulders eased a little, and he felt the weight of the battle sink into his limbs. Tiredness stole over him, like a huge wave that broke against a cliff. Aragorn felt his legs give out beneath him, and with a groan he sank to the ground.

Wearily leaning against a part of the wall that had not been destroyed, Aragorn closed his eyes, although he knew that he would relive the battle as soon as he did. And surely, immediately he saw flashes of battle scenes, heard the screams of the dying and dead and felt the sting of his own wounds intensify.

Aragorn swallowed thickly and pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes, as if that would make the images vanish. They did not vanish, of course, but grew clearer and stronger the more Aragorn fought against them, and after several attempts to overpower them, Aragorn gave up. He opened his mind and heart for the rush of emotions, pictures and smells.

They came, and they stayed, and they made him wish he could sleep like the elves, always able to control his dreams. And when dawn broke and sunlight peeked over the horizon, Aragorn got to his feet slowly and headed back inside. There was work to be done.

He had not slept that night, and he new that it would take a long, long time until he would be able to sleep without seeing those images. Maybe when Sauron was overpowered and freedom had returned to these lands, he would be able to truly find for a while.

The End.

_So, what do you think?_


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